


I Blamed God, I Blame You

by invisoen



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Coming Out, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It gets dark, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Life Choices, Pre-Canon, Religious Guilt, single parent henry emily
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisoen/pseuds/invisoen
Summary: Five secrets Henry trusts William to keep, and one secret that William gives up.
Relationships: William Afton | Dave Miller/Henry Emily
Comments: 1
Kudos: 37





	1. A Binding of Two Minds

“What are you majoring in, anyway?”

William looked up at his roommate. The day had gone by with them unpacking their things, trying desperately to avoid needless small talk. Why ruin it now? He shrugged, tossing aside a stack of orientation papers to turn and answer the other man. “ _Business_ ,” he stated. His tone drenched in an amount of frustration that was exaggerated for such a simple question.

And he didn’t ask this man for a response, but he was already talking, “Engineering. We might run into each other then, huh?”

William sized him up before answering. He took note of the man’s straight posture, the cross necklace, his neatly combed hair. It looked controlled, even as it was growing past his ears. How professional, yet he also looked like he would drop out to start a rock band halfway through the semester. Somewhere in the realm of messy professionalism, that man was. William figured he should’ve written that he wanted zero freaks to be staying with him. One was enough. How would he cope with two? But, and William hated to admit it, in the time they spent together, he had helped him move all of his things in without a fuss. It was going to be a long year if this man never shut up. Without a doubt, he didn't need someone to ask him how his day was or if he needed help. But it could’ve always been worse when it came to freaks.

"So what's your name?" he asked instead of answering the other's frankly asinine question. Of course they would share classes. The universe was out to get him, after all.

"It's Henry," he said, "Henry Emily." A name to the face, the face smiling brightly. Brightening up like a dog happy to see its owner, yapping at the front door and waiting for William's response. Answering "William Afton" was enough. He would have a name to his face, the face that rarely changed, that stayed still like a scholar deep in thought. A scholar and his disciple. William and his... Henry.

They became proper roommates that day. There was no word to their relationship yet, like friends that were also strangers. Strangers who could tread the deepest of topics after five seconds of greetings. Now, William didn't believe in fate. Fate was a bullshit excuse to anything that could be explained as coincidence. If fate existed, fate must've hated William Afton. But he and that man clicked together in a way that no other person in his life had ever done. They must have came from similar backgrounds, that's all.

That's all.

A month or so passed. Classes picked up. Things William hated became routine, though he supposed he only hated them because it was so unlike his old routine. Normally he came home to dead silence. Cold walls and colder faces inside. He now entered a warm room containing Henry, who had one less class than him and had started on dinner already. William used to skip this formality of meal time to study more, to cram more into his otherwise going to waste mind. Often, his dinners were snuck into his room dead at night, quick bites in between books.

He sat with Henry now. To humor him. The man would talk to him about his day, prod William about his day right after to have some semblance of a conversation. This effort was often fruitless.

The kitchen and dining room were basked in the same warm light. There was a calendar that Henry circled "very important" dates on. The exam dates were written in black ink, and whatever idiotic national holidays Henry found amusing were highlighted and in red pen. Aside from that, there was little decoration in their space. No point. They both didn't seem to mind. When Henry cooked, they at least had a comfortable silence. When they ate, it grew uncomfortable. William picked at his food. Even with the handicaps of their lacking budgets, it was still better than his home's cooking. He wasn't rushed to eat, wasn't scolded for deciding not to eat or saving it for later. Not here. Henry only told him not to waste it.

His attention turned to the man's open backpack. Nothing struck him as noteworthy about it, it was things typical of Henry's courses. Two ungodly large textbooks that the man could stand to lug around, a miscellaneous book for when he got bored. What struck William, however, was a used sketchpad. That told him that besides the calculations and other class work, Henry was also designing his own projects. And as nosy William claimed he wasn't, he was grabbing the book and flipping it open.

The reaction was instantaneous. Henry, upon looking from the stove, said, "Hey, Will, uh... Man, come on, don't look through that." He didn't lunge for the book though. It was too little, too late after all.

William showed him what page he happened to open to, in an effort to pick up pieces of Henry's slightly shattered trust. It was a sketch of a bear mascot, with a drawing on one page detailing the creature's head. There were scribbles of what parts would be needed, too. But realizing Henry was still expecting an explanation, he was already muttering, "Sorry, couldn't help it. I wanted to know what this thing was."

It was a cute little drawing, for what it was supposed to be. Not technically impressive, but plans for a full-size robot capable of movement cast Henry as a dreamer. William could appreciate that. "It's... His name is Fredbear," Henry first introduced, but quickly figured from William's impatient gesturing that wasn't what he wanted to hear, "It's an animatronic. It's like... meant to do small dances and perform songs."

"Like... for children?" William asked.

Henry laughed, shrugging as an affirmative. "Well, I suppose that'd be the target audience, but I think anyone could appreciate him," he said, "He'd lip-synch and dance..."

William smiled at that revelation. So much for the boring thoughts he assumed were in that head, now there were dreams spilling from it. And the sense that he was the _first_ one to find out about this. That excited him much more than this "Fredbear."

"Well, what do you expect to come of this? These things don't come cheap," William said, switching gears into the business side of it, "Aside from the parts, the maintenance, nobody's going to come just to see this thing perform." He saw Henry's face and stopped in the middle of his rant. The realism is clearly crushing him, yet Henry was restrained, as if he had already thought of that. He just hated to be reminded of it. "But, let's say there's two," William proposed, trying to inject lightness into his tone, "And while one performs, this one is serving food and talking to the customers."

"These things can't really talk," Henry argued.

"You can. _We_ can, I mean, no kid could tell the difference between whether there's metal or a man in that suit," William said, "So let's say Fredbear can be both."

"Will," Henry said, stopping him at that point. Not to make any good points, but to ask, "Why... are you interested in this? Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the, uh, _help_. I just don't get why you care."

William didn't know why this sparked his interest. Not really. But to have this foothold into Henry's personal life, while that sounded demented, made him appreciate the other's company more. He wanted to see where this path went, what would come of them. William saw other paths for his own life. He would become a cutthroat salaryman, and kill to the top of a company. Metaphorically, of course. It was almost guaranteed he would be successful. Why not help this friend of his, and risk something for once?

"I'm just interested, Henry," William said, "I've never seen something like this. I apologize if I'm coming off the wrong way, but this has just got me excited, I suppose."

With a dose of flattery, he took one step closer to this dream of Henry's. It was a crackpot dream. It could go nowhere. William didn't care. In some ways, he enjoyed the suppers they shared. He didn't want this to be the last. And _nothing_ was more boring than the path he had previously been putting himself on. If he continued down it, he would most certainly snap from the monotony and get himself in the papers for something stupid. No, that wasn't for him. So what if he stepped to the side, and became a business partner to something never seen before? It could go the same.

It could be fun. William disagreed. No, it will be fun.

Henry sighed, brushing his hair out of his face so he could look William in the eyes. "I didn't think you would get it," he said, "Honestly, this just seems freakish, doesn't it?"

"No, no," William said. He shook his head too, pushing through the point. He had just gotten the man to open up, there was no retreating back into their shells now. "I don't have to understand your reasons. I just admire your work, Henry. You have something here that few have done before. And I encourage you to embrace it."

"Right," Henry finally agreed. The compliments and flattery had been piling up, he would have either accepted it or violently rejected it. "To be honest, I just want to do something that makes people happy."

William chuckled, taking Henry's hand. It was soft on the outside, rough and worn on the inside. The two men must've wondered then how they didn't notice their physical closeness before. How they drifted towards each other without thinking when they talked. These touches were natural. Of course, the men and the feelings behind their actions... weren't. "I want you to take some pride in it," he said, "You come off as such a people-pleaser. Bad home life? Or just a poor self-image?"

" _Will_ ," Henry stopped him again, "Jesus, at least help make dinner before you psychoanalyze me like that." He unlatched their hands, marching back to the stove before their meal burned. One of William's habits, or faults, was doing this. He talked, he spoke too much. He said the things that everybody was thinking, but didn't want voiced. Some called him an 'asshole' for this.

But... "Ha! I'm only reading an open book, Henry," William taunted.

He was promptly, but lightly, hit with a wooden spatula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a little project of mine that will be updated from time to time, no strict schedules! the next chapters will be longer. if you liked this one, i'd appreciate any feedback/comments :)


	2. The Confession Booth

William was on his way to graduating—with honors. Nothing less could be expected from him. However, his thoughts as of late had been turned away from finals and towards something more deserving of attention. _Springlocks_. William had come up with the name and the concept, only inspiring Henry with the stumbling words of someone who studied business and not mechanical engineering. It embarrassed him into a cold silence whenever Henry corrected him. That happening _very_ rarely, of course.

Springlocks, as Henry explained, would be the thing to make animatronic and suit combos possible. They would also be, in his words, "a bitch to maintain."

"Make it happen," William repeated, as usual whenever Henry told him something was impractical. While Henry went off on a tangent about the possible risks, William noted how Henry had winced a little when he cursed. He always seemed to do that, in fact. A small wince, a crinkle of his nose and the scrunching of his eyebrows. Worry etched a good look on Henry though, it brought attention to those dark eyes of his. William snapped back to reality when he heard "violent death" and "piercing metal." The man considered himself comfortable with violence, or at least he had built up a tolerance for the subject, but even that thought sent shivers down his spine. Being trapped in something akin to an iron maiden, driving unclean metal through your skin. Or maybe it was the dead serious look on Henry's face. "It could really hurt someone," he warned.

"And we'd be ruined," William muttered. He wasn't born yesterday. "Come on, Henry, I won't let anyone die by those suits."

Henry lightly smiled. Small words and little promises reassured him, kept him going through the day and past his own mental limits. "Here, you get finished with dinner, I'm fixin' to leave," he said. He ignored how William looked taken aback as he grabbed his backpack. It was out of the ordinary for Henry to leave their space after dark. Dinner usually came right before light study, the study session right before bed. On weekends and days with zero classes, they did this dance later at night, maybe after a show or movie. The pair always did their best creative work when the sun went down.

"Where are you going?" William asked. He wondered if Henry could notice the way his hands gripped the first thing they could find. He was gripping the underside of the table, offering a friendly grin back towards Henry. Maybe if he noticed his strained nature, his obviously fake smile, he'd receive some pity and Henry would reconsider his change of plans.

But instead, his friend offered a two-finger salute, happily answering, "Out. I'll be back sometime tonight, all right, Will?" Now Henry was reassuring William, but it wasn't quite what he was hoping for. If Henry was reassuring, that was only damage control for the fault he would inevitably commit.

"All right," William repeated back, the perfect answering machine he had to be. His eyes drifted down. Henry was grabbing his wallet. His keys. William tallied these up, like smaller but still just as offensive gestures towards him. If he really wanted Henry home, he could've asked. Perhaps. But he sat there, waiting for Henry to drop everything, read his face, and conform to the routine.

Henry wasn't able to read his mind. Henry was out the door as soon as he could. And William's fingers began to hurt from how hard he gripped the table. He sighed, pushing away dinner and crossing his arms. That departure felt as if it would crush him, and for what reason? William hadn't noticed himself being particularly attached to his roommate, just the... routine being broken. Just the routine.

He would watch some television. He would cope. He'd crack open a book or two. The floors felt cold, even walking over them with socks on. William sat down on the small couch, it was more of a loveseat, after turning the television on.

And well, nothing was on. Just static after ten, the stations had already signed off for the night. Which brought him to the question...

What the _fuck_ was Henry doing out past ten? He got lost in his own rage, the static of the television set, that he didn't notice Henry slip in. Busy in his seething mind, for maybe three hours straight. Henry was quiet walking to his bedroom, but made their place stink of some kind of cologne. William stood from the couch. Did Henry even see him, or spare him a glance? William scoffed. If he didn't, he would soon. He marched, and that march turned into a walk.

He knocked on their bedroom door. The door opened in moments, Henry already apologizing, "Ah, hell, I woke you up. Sorry." No flinch this time. Strange, because in Henry's eyes, _hell_ was not a light word to throw around.

"Oh, that's not it..." William muttered, stepping into their room and clasping his hands together. "Had fun out?" He shifted his body, closing the bedroom door with the weight of his frame. Henry didn't answer him. He busied himself, stripping himself of his coat, and trading his clothes for pajamas that were too big for his body. William repeated his question in a stern tone, and only then did he get some sign Henry was listening.

"Huh? Oh... yeah, yeah, I did," Henry mumbled, climbing into bed, "Can you get me a glass of water? Please?"

"Were you drinking?" William raised an eyebrow.

"No, just parched..."

Henry was a bad liar. Obviously. But he didn't see any signs of it this time. So without any question, William grabbed him a glass of cold water from the kitchen. It passed Henry's lips seconds after the cup was handed over. The man sighed and said, "Thanks. You're the best, Will." He put the glass down on his nightstand and laid back on the bed.

As much as he wanted to however, sleep would ruin William's chances of a peaceful interrogation. He wanted to talk while the other's night out was fresh in his mind. "What were you out doing, anyway?" he asked, changing his approach. He wanted to sound less like one of Henry's... interesting parental figures. More like a friend. He _was_ Henry's friend. And he was going to sound invested, not accusatory. He felt as if he was reminding himself of what should've been basic things.

"I was out with some friends," Henry answered, notably prepared. There was a problem with questioning this. William didn't want to sound rude, but Henry's current schedule made him having other friends highly unlikely. Henry also had a low opinion of others in his course. Like William, he had that same inflated ego, just... not a very good self-esteem. Henry was a man of contradictions. At least when William said he was objectively better than most people, he meant it. Henry thought it, but didn't dare say it. He stayed quiet. So _friends_? Unlikely. Henry had neither the patience nor the want for more than a few confidants.

William had stayed quiet for a while. Not long enough for Henry to fall asleep, but long enough to think of a response that wasn't, "If it weren't for me, you'd be completely alone. Don't kid yourself."

"What'd you end up doing with them?" he ended up asking. William rolled his eyes when Henry looked up at him, explaining, "Just interested in how your night went."

They stared at each other more. A test of who would break first. The two both wanted explanations, one for nosiness, and the other for his attempt to escape questioning. Henry exhaled, a profound and long breath escaping. Relenting finally. "All right... You probably wouldn't care," he said, "I was... uh, experimenting."

"With drugs?" William's mind immediately jumped to the conclusion. Things clicked into place when put into that frame of thinking. If Henry were just high on something, that explained some of his behaviors. Two, that made what he was about to do a hell of a lot easier.

"No!" Henry said in a hushed whisper, quick to refute that accusation before backtracking, "Well, there was some of that going on... But I mean, _experimenting_. Seeing how it was. You know." William did not know. Henry had a habit of saying that phrase before and after statements that confused him. It was... annoying. Maybe somewhat endearing, but not now and not in this situation. It bristled him, how close Henry danced towards the point of his words but refused to say them outright.

"I know?" William repeated back at him, making sure to highlight his own ignorance.

"With, uh, men," Henry said, instinctively about to say "you know" before mumbling instead, "You... Well, you probably don't know."

William hummed, "I don't?" Henry assumed a lot of things of him, apparently even his own attraction. One part of him despised the thought of closeness, of affection, of _people_ , and well, the rest... The rest was the part that found Henry nice enough. "You end up liking it?" he tried to ask casually, sitting next to Henry. It was safe to do an act like this given the man's denseness.

"Well," Henry said as an answer, staying quiet after that. He shrugged a shoulder, half-invested in this conversation as he mumbled, "I wasn't expecting to."

And despite the insolence of his alone night, William found himself smiling a little. Truly and genuinely speaking. "That's something you should be happy about then," he reassured Henry, too exhausted to realize his newest contradiction. Only William remembered Henry's devotion to his idea of being a perfect man, and William would stay quiet about this "fault." William patted the other's shoulder, murmuring, "Not everyone is brave enough to question themselves. Allow themselves to change a core part of their identity."

William, of course, did it all the time. But Henry did it once, and once was enough to please William. William had to twist himself in all sorts of ways to be what Henry wanted in a friend. Henry was himself. Henry was simple, had simple problems, and was simply enough for William. Frustrating at times, it was.

"At least you're not upset," Henry trailed off.

He was. He most certainly was seething on the inside, but the feeling died off upon hearing the tone Henry used. It appeared that despite what William thought, perhaps they were both afraid of losing each other's friendship. He wondered about the things Henry had to hide from him to appear desirable. William had a large list of traits he pushed down. How long was Henry's list? Logically, he should be upset by the idea of Henry hiding things from him. But instead, he felt a lot less alone than he had earlier that night.

"No. I'm glad you told me this, Henry," William muttered. One last pat on the shoulder between friends before he returned to his side of the room. He slowly laid his body down in his bed. Thinking about what he would say in the morning. Mapping out every possibility, depending on what Henry remembered and cared to mention. He had a large map ready, when he realized he hadn't said good night.

They both exchanged this nicety, one analyzing far longer into the night than needed over tone, body language, and every single word that was used. And after all the thinking, William figured it only said more about him than Henry. _Obsession_. There was no other reason for why rooms felt warmer with Henry inside, why the gears of his mind ran faster than their chains could handle. Henry was someone that was delightful to dissect. Deceivingly plain, deceivingly stubborn. He was complex enough to be satisfying. He was yielding enough to provide a challenge.

William discovered he obsessed over Henry the same way dollmakers cared for their toys with ripped off arms, smeared paint, and torn clothes.

They could always be remade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading this! i truly appreciate any interaction this gets :)


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